


Yes, you

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Surgery, Temporary Amnesia, Trans Martin Blackwood, not described Martin's just waking up afterward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: Martin wakes up in the hospital, with no memory of how he got there.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 112
Kudos: 562





	Yes, you

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually know if general anesthesia can give you temporary amnesia like this, but it sounds plausible enough for a story so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Also I've never had a major surgery, if anything here is terribly inaccurate I apologize.

Consciousness returned to Martin slowly. It started with a faint awareness of light against his eyelids, then a rushing in his ears. He could feel his own breathing, slow and steady in his lungs, and the thudding beat of his heart in his ribcage.

His fingers twitched on a slightly scratchy sheet covering him, and he cracked his eyes open, squinting against the bright white light in the room.

The first thing he saw was, unsurprisingly, a ceiling. He turned his head to the left, feeling a pillow compress under his cheek with the movement. There was a nurse there, checking the monitor next to his bed, and he frowned slightly. Was he in the hospital?

The nurse glanced up, saying something, though Martin couldn't match the movement of their lips to any identifiable words. Sound still felt muted, distant.

He turned his head to the right to see who they were speaking to, and frowned harder as he tried to come up with a rational explanation for why Jonathan Sims was sitting next to his bedside, looking attentive as he listened to the nurse speak.

After a moment, Jon nodded, and seemed to ask a question. His eyebrows always rose a bit when he did that, curious and expressive. His head tilted to the side as he listened to the answer, a few strands of hair falling gently across his face before he brushed them back with a casual hand.

Martin opened his mouth, moving his jaw silently for a moment before he trusted himself to speak.

"J- Jon?"

Jon's eyes snapped to him. "Good morning," he said, with a soft smile, and thankfully  _ this  _ sound came through clear. The background noise started to filter itself into something meaningful, distant footsteps from the hallway and the beep of a monitor. "How do you feel?"

Martin took a shallow breath, glancing at the room around him. His chest felt tight. "What... why am I in the hospital?"

Jon's brow furrowed in concern, but before he could speak the nurse stepped in.

"Nothing to worry about, temporary amnesia is a fairly common reaction to the general anesthesia that was used for your operation."

Jon visibly relaxed at the words, settling back into his chair. Martin tensed. 

"Operation? What-"

"Routine surgery," Jon said, and Martin felt his eyebrows creep up at Jon's tone. He'd never imagined Jon would ever try to  _ comfort  _ him. "You don't have to worry, this is a good thing." He smiled, and his eyes flicked quickly down to Martin's chest before returning to his face.

Martin looked. It took his mind a moment to process what he was seeing.

The tightness he had been feeling was caused by the bandages that swathed him. Underneath, his chest was flat, as though he were wearing his binder. His eyes widened, and his left hand gripped the sheets tightly as his right rose to brush, wonderingly, over the bandages.

"I'll give you two some privacy," the nurse said, somewhere to Martin's left. "The doctor will be by in a bit to make sure you know what to expect for recovery."

"Thank you," Jon said softly. There were footsteps, and the quiet click of a door closing, and Martin finally blinked himself back to reality and looked up.

"This is..."

Jon smiled warmly again. "Yeah."

"I don't even remember applying for surgery."

Jon shrugged, and gave him a helpless smile. "Apparently that's pretty common? I'm sure you will soon."

"Right." He moved his hand off his chest - it probably wasn't a good idea to poke and prod at the fresh bandages - and tried to think through the fog of anesthetics in his head. "Um, Jon?"

"Yes?"

"I don't- um, why are you here?" He winced. "I mean! Not that I'm not grateful, I am, I just- I guess I just would have expected someone else? Tim or, or Sasha, even."

Jon's eyes widened. He looked... hesitant. "Martin..." he said slowly. "Do you remember what year it is?"

What kind of question was that? "Of course I do, it's..." he trailed off, slightly concerned as the answer eluded him. "Um. It's..." he muttered, "we joined the Archives in 2015, and it's been... uh... that was..."

"Martin." Jon laid a hand over Martin's arm, his expression gentle. Martin's heart skipped a beat, and oh  _ christ, _ he could not handle this just out of surgery. "That was almost a decade ago."

"That was-  _ what?" _

"That was almost a decade ago, Martin," Jon repeated. "You didn't even begin to look into top surgery until after the apo- until 2019." Martin wondered, just for a second, what he had been about to say. He could feel the end of the word sitting somewhere in his mind, could almost taste it on the back of his tongue, but he couldn't bring it into clarity and anyway, Jon was still speaking. "And you know what the waiting times with the NHS are like."

The words were said with the intonation of a joke, and Martin laughed accordingly, even as he reeled with surprise internally. Since when did Jon tell  _ jokes? _

"That's... wow," he said after a minute. "That feels like too long."

Jon huffed with amusement. "I'll say." There was a tired smile around his eyes, and now that Martin was looking he could see the signs of age: he was almost completely grey, now, with lines pressed deep around his eyes. The scars on his face were faded and worn, not the angry, just-barely-healed scabs Martin remembered. And yet... somehow, it all looked right. He knew this Jon, he could feel it, he'd seen the age fall upon him over the years, even if he didn't quite remember those years at the moment.

Still... "I still, um," he said. "I still don't really understand why  _ you're  _ here?" His voice had gone high-pitched and awkward. "Were the others busy?"

The corners of Jon's mouth tightened slightly: some old pain that he quickly pushed away. "You asked me to be here, Martin," he said softly, then rolled his eyes and muttered, "though I would have been even if you hadn't."

That surprised Martin; sudden warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought of Jon  _ wanting  _ to be here for him. "Oh." He paused. "So, uh, you said it had been a decade? Since, um, since we met?" Jon nodded. Martin laughed, a little sadly. "We must have gotten a lot closer over the years."

Jon's eyes lit with some unknown humor, and there was a laugh in his voice as he replied. "You could say that, yes."

Martin wondered what that meant. He didn't dare to ask.

There was a moment of silence. Then: "Martin?"

"Hm?"

"This is going to sound odd, but... do you remember what Sasha looked- looks like?"

Martin frowned. For some reason, the question  _ didn't  _ sound odd, even though he knew it should. There was something about Sasha, something pushing on the edges of his mind, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. "She's got, um, short hair. Blond. Medium height..."

He trailed off as Jon sighed. There was a disappointed look in his eyes, but he didn't seem surprised. "Right... thank you, that... that's kind of what I expected."

Despite his confusion, Martin could feel that he knew why Jon was disappointed, somehow. Whatever-it-was that he couldn't remember felt heavy and dark, and he didn't really want to ask about it. Better to let it return naturally, with the rest of his memories, when the anesthesia wore off.

Jon shook himself. "Sorry, that's not- that's not the matter at hand. How are you feeling?"

"Um..." Confused. Tired. Sore. Part of him kind of wanted Jon to leave, because he was the source of most of the confusion and also it was rather stressful to have his boss, who he'd been secretly in love with for ages, hanging around while he was high on painkillers. A larger part of him never wanted Jon gone from his side. "My throat's a bit dry," he finally settled on.

"Oh, here." Jon put a hand on his shoulder, sliding it back to support him as he struggled to sit up. "Let me help you."

Martin had to admit, Jon did most of the work to get him into a sitting position, slumped back against a stack of pillows behind him. His own attempts at wriggling upright pulled at his bandages and caused dull pain to flair across his chest. Martin tried not to miss the warmth of Jon's hands on him when he settled back into his own chair.

He passed Martin a small paper cup that had been sitting on the bedside table, holding it steady with one hand and using the other to guide Martin's hand around it when he saw how shaky his grip was. Jon's hand was warm against his, long fingers gently supporting his own as he lifted the cup to his lips, and-

Oh.

Oh  _ no. _

There was a ring on Jon's left hand. A small silver band, wrapped around his fourth finger, the inscription on it slightly faded with years of wear.

Martin took a small sip of water. Jon continued to hold the cup, keeping it steady as Martin's hand shook, until he had had his fill. Then he set it down carefully on the side table again, and gave Martin's hand a small squeeze before letting go. Martin was almost ashamed at the way his heart still leapt at the steady warmth of Jon's fingers over his own, even after seeing the ring.

"You, uh..." he stuttered out, after a moment's internal debate. "You're married?"

"Hm?" Jon's eyes followed his own to the ring, and his whole face went soft and fond. His voice was warm, and he smiled as he spoke. "Yes."

"Right." Martin tried to stop his own voice from wobbling. "Who to?"

Jon glanced at him in surprise. Then, wordlessly, he reached over Martin's body and lifted his left hand from where it rested on the sheets. He held it up in front of Martin's face.

There was a silver band around his fourth finger, inscription faded from years of wear.

Martin stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending. Then he looked at Jon's face, at the amusement dancing in his eyes. Then at the ring. Then back to Jon.

_ "Me?" _ he spluttered.

"Yes, you," Jon said, and he was grinning now, shoulders shaking with withheld laughter.

"I- you- we're-  _ married?" _

"Almost five years, now."

Martin stared at him. Then his eyes went back to his own hand. Jon had laced their fingers together again, his right with Martin's left. The ring shone under the bright hospital lights.

Martin felt like he was going to explode with happiness.

"You're my  _ husband?" _

"And you are mine," Jon said solemnly. He grabbed a chart hanging from the head of the hospital bed, turning it so Martin could see the name written in the 'patient' field. "Martin Blackwood-Sims."

Martin could have sworn he was about to faint. "Oh my god." It came out quieter than he'd expected, soft and stunned.

"I told you we were close."

Martin looked at him. Jon was  _ smirking, _ actually  _ smirking, _ the bastard, and Martin wanted to kiss him so much. And-

Oh, god. He'd kissed Jon before, hadn't he? He must have.

"Did- have we-" The words weren't coming.

"Yes?" Jon said, so, so patiently, so fond, and Martin loved him so much.

"Have- have we  _ kissed?" _ His voice dropped to a whisper on the last word, without his permission.

Jon matched it, low and conspiratorial. He leaned in. "Yes, Martin, we have." He grinned. "We can do it again if you like."

Martin's breath left him in a shocked huff, and his eyes widened. "Yes, please," he said, his voice thick with longing, and he would have felt embarrassed about that if Jon's grin wasn't growing, if he wasn't leaning forward even closer, if he wasn't pressing his lips against Martin's.

The kiss was gentle and chaste. Martin could feel the pillows compressing on either side of his head as Jon supported himself on them, doing his best to hover over Martin without putting any weight on his chest. His lips were still curved in a smile, and Martin ached at the slightly stubbly scratch of his chin.

It felt familiar. It felt  _ right. _

Something clicked into place in Martin's head, another memory settling, and he felt his heart rate slowing, calming, as his nerves bled away.

He had done this before. He would do it again.

When Jon pulled away Martin just looked at him for a moment, taking in how familiar it all was.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"I love you too," Jon replied, and that felt right too.

He grabbed Martin's hand again, and they sat in silence for a few moments. Then: "I'm going to be really embarrassed about all this once my brain's running at full capacity again, aren't I?" Martin asked.

Jon chuckled. "I would hope not. I literally don't have the words to express how adorable you're being right now."

Martin could feel himself blush. "Okay, you gotta stop that," he laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "A large part of me is screaming that you're my unattainable boss, and this is all severely messing with my worldview."

"Well, we can't have that now, can we?" Jon teased, then glanced at the door. "They'll be coming back soon anyway to explain the post-op, your worldview will be spared from my incessant adoration." And he kissed the back of Martin's hand.

"You- you're-" Martin stuttered, blushing even harder. "You're  _ insufferable." _

"Ah, so you  _ do  _ remember marrying me," Jon said, sounding delighted, but Martin was thankfully spared having to respond to that by the door opening and a doctor coming in to check on him.

~~~~~

"I was right, you know," Martin said. They were home, now, and he was sitting in bed, propped up on a giant pile of pillows. Jon had been fussing around him, adjusting the pillows and tucking the blanket up and around Martin's torso, but at his words he stopped and sat down next to him, smoothing one hand up his arm with a smile.

"About what?"

"Forgetting we're married?  _ So  _ embarrassing."

Jon laughed.  _ "So _ adorable," he said. "The face you made when you saw the rings? I wish I'd had a camera."

"Haha, laugh it up." Martin rolled his eyes, putting on his best grumpy face.  _ "You're _ not the one who had a few minutes of terror thinking the love of his life was married to someone else."

"I apologize," Jon said, leaning over to kiss him. "In the future I'll make sure to scream 'you're my husband, darling,' into your face every time you wake up."

"Sure, that'll help," Martin chuckled, then winced. The anesthesia had worn off and the painkillers hadn't quite kicked in yet. It looked like laughing would be a no-go for a while.

Jon noticed the wince and frowned. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just a bit sore. I should probably be trying to sleep, soon."

Jon adjusted the blankets again. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"I will. You sure you'll be okay on the couch?"

"I'll be fine."

"You know you don't have to-"

"Martin." Jon laid a hand on his arm. "You're recovering from surgery, the last thing you need is me tossing and turning and keeping you awake all night. I'll be fine on the couch."

Martin didn't push it. Jon was right, and Martin was actually quite glad to have the bed to himself while he recovered. It still felt weird to have Jon sleeping on the couch.

"Okay, " he said, and, "thank you."

"Of course." Jon smiled, and kissed him again. "Do you need anything before bed?"

"I think I'm good," Martin said, smiling up at him as he stood. "Goodnight, I guess."

"Goodnight." Jon leaned over him, pressing one last kiss to his lips, before retreating to the door of the room. "Sleep well."

"You too."

Jon nodded once, a fond warmth sparkling in his eyes. Then he left, flicking the light off as he went, and closed the door softly behind him.


End file.
